“And it was the most I’ve ever learned during science fair. It was great.” He laughed softly and shook his head. “I like that when you know something, you know you know it. You’re in a different category each year, and each year you know exactly what you’re talking about. I could goof my way through a bunch of biology experiments, but you go all in. Like with Assassins. You don’t do things by halves. It’s a little intimidating.”
Lia had never thought of herself as intimidating. Off-putting maybe, but she was short, plain, and blunt. Her dad called her a jack-of-all-trades and master of none. There was nothing she truly excelled at unless researching counted.
“You like me because I’m intimidating?” she asked.
“I like you for a lot of reasons,” he said. “Maybe that’s a strong word. You’re certain? You know what you know? You trust yourself?”
Lia wasn’t sure she trusted herself now, with the memories of her dead classmates’ ghosts haunting her every thought. She didn’t know what she was doing after high school. She didn’t know how to carry on with Assassins when people were really turning up dead. She didn’t know how to navigate this weird new life she had found herself in.
She knew Devon, though.
“I don’t feel like I can right now.” Lia reached out and brushed his hair back. He caught her hand with his, and she didn’t pull away. “I didn’t send you those emails, but other weird things have happened. I found my journal in my backpack the other day, even though it can’t have been in there. I emptied it out completely when I thought I had lost the journal. It’s mesh. You can’t lose things in it. I was right. There was a second person at that park with Cassidy and me. I didn’t shoot Cassidy. I—”
And she couldn’t say it because the idea that she had been right there, she had been steps from the person who slammed Cassidy’s head against a table hard enough to kill her, burned the words out of her. Devon tugged her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Lia tucked her face into his neck.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ll be okay.”
A hand reached over the railing and yanked Devon back. Lia grabbed his arms. The hand pulled his jacket harder.
His feet lifted off the ground. The rush of blood in her ears drowned out Devon’s shriek, his fingers gripping the rail as his jacket sleeves cut into his shoulders. Lia wrapped one arm around his waist and shoved one of the sleeves down his arm and off.
“Let go!” she cried out.
Devon let go of the rail with both hands and let his arms dangle. Lia hugged him to her. The jacket ripped off of him. It fluttered to the landing below. Footsteps thundered down the stairs.
Lia took off after them. She jumped the last three stairs of the landing and skidded into the wall. A figure, all in black, darted down the last landing. Lia leapt after them.
If Devon had fallen, it would’ve looked like Lia had pushed him.
The attacker smacked into the door. It flew open, and they sprinted out. Lia raced after, following their path in the dim light of the streetlamps. They turned left, back toward the school, and took the path leading into the neighborhood around the school. Lia had mapped the area outside of the school grounds extensively for the game, and she took a path that would intercept theirs. She ran without thinking, eyes on the corner ahead. One right, and she would have them. Distantly, Devon screamed her name. She took the corner at full speed.
The figure stood in front of her, water gun raised. It was the same person from the park. Their face was covered by the folds of a thin black scarf, and they were taller than Lia by half a foot. Their white tennis shoes were immaculate despite the mud.
“Why?” Lia asked.
She could fight them. Water was nothing compared to what they had done.
They cocked their head to the side and shot her point-blank in the face.
Lia collapsed, gasping. Water burned in her eyes, dripping down her nose and into her open mouth. She tried to stand and gagged. It wasn’t just water. She couldn’t see.
Footsteps paced around her. Lia scrambled back, eyes shut and gravel ripping into her hands. A shout echoed down the alley. Devon screamed. Lia’s vision cleared just enough for her to see the dark smear of her attacker flee.
By the time she had heaved up the water she had inhaled and Devon had tried to wipe the water mixture from her eyes, the attacker was gone.
“It wasn’t part of the game!” Lia wrung the towel the cops had pulled from their trunk in her hands. The water had been laced with soap and some sort of pepper oil, and Devon had gotten another orchestra member to get some milk from the vending machine. Lia’s face was still red and stinging. “They tried to kill Devon.”
“He’s fine,” said a cop Lia hadn’t met before and regretted meeting now. He had the countenance and facial hair of a thirteen-year-old shih tzu, and Lia liked him as much as she liked yappy dogs. He hadn’t even asked what her name was. “That fall wouldn’t have killed him, probably wouldn’t have even broken a bone, and seems like it successfully lured you off of school property.”
Behind his head, where Devon sat talking to his mom, Lia met Devon’s eyes. He shook his head. He was wrapped in a blanket. He had taken off Lia’s soaked jacket and replaced it with his button-down shirt, but now they were both cold and suffering.
“The game’s banned. We get suspended if we play,” Lia said. “And we would get disqualified and arrested if we pushed someone down the stairs just to win.”
“Look,” the cop said with a heavy sigh. “I know how y’all get with this game.”
“How do you know it’s not the person who killed Abby, Ben, and Cassidy?”
“You said it was a girl,” he said.
“I said they were in leggings and a jacket with a scarf over their face,” Lia said quickly. She had described every last detail she could remember, muttering them over and over to Devon so she wouldn’t forget. “I don’t know who they are.”
Detective James stepped out of an old tan Caprice and zeroed in on Lia. She winced.
Here Lia was, at the center of a mess, again.
“But I have seen this person before,” Lia said. Her sight was bleary now, but it hadn’t been when she had turned that corner. “Yesterday someone chased me through the park. This person had the same silhouette and hood and everything.”
“Okay,” the cop said. “Describe the first figure.”
Lia hadn’t been close enough to compare her height with theirs, but she knew how tall the fence was. Weight was impossible to guess. Build was better. Their face had been hidden behind a black scarf, but a few strands of hair had poked out from beneath it.
“Between five four and five ten, slender and maybe athletic, brown hair that’s at least shoulder length, a black cotton scarf, a pullover black hoodie, and solid white tennis shoes. The fancy wool kind. I don’t know the name.”
“Did anyone else happen to see them?” Detective James asked, coming to a stop right behind the cop.
“I think Devon did?” she said, but she was so unsure it came out as a question.
“I believe Mr. Diaz has already given his statement,” the detective replied, “and as I recall it, you weren’t supposed to go anywhere.”
Lia rubbed the wet neck of her shirt. “I needed to talk to Devon.”
“He is your boyfriend, right?” he asked.
Lia shrugged. She wasn’t entirely sure how she would describe him, but the detective was staring at her with his unreadable eyes.
“Stop talking.” Lia’s mom pushed around James and grabbed Lia’s arm. “I swear to God, Lia, not another word.”
“Mrs. Prince,” James said, “your—”
“Was cleared by the paramedics.” Lia’s mom tugged her toward the car, past Devon and his mom, and he raised his arms at Lia in question. “So we are leaving.”
&nbs
p; “Wait.” Lia ripped her hand free. “I need to give Devon his shirt back.”
Her mom’s face got somehow stormier.
Lia made her way to Devon. “Bruised?” she asked.
“A little,” he said. “I told them about the messages, stairs, and whoever attacked you. I think they thought you pushed me, and I was protecting you? No offense, but I would not do that.”
“Yeah.” Lia pulled his shirt from her shoulders and handed it back to him. “If I ever do that, feel free to push me back.”
“I don’t think they really listened to me.” Devon’s gaze darted to his mom, and then he leaned into Lia and cupped her face in his hands. He whispered, “They didn’t leave after shooting you. They waited. I think they were trying to decide what else to do with you.”
She shook out her hair, wet clothes sticking to her skin, and fought back another shudder. “They’re probably not done with you either.”
They probably weren’t only going to pull him off the railing. The water gun and spiked water were insurance.
“Keep it.” Devon wrapped his shirt around Lia’s shoulders. “You should probably be in a car.”
It was nice to have someone’s attention solely on her. Devon had held back her hair while she had heaved up a lungful of water, and Lia’s mom still hadn’t asked if she was okay, only urged her to leave. It wasn’t winter anymore, but it was dark and windy, and the cold had sunk into Lia’s bones.
“I feel like a burrito,” she said.
“You look like a burrito.” He rubbed her shoulders. “A cold, soggy burrito.”
His lips, rolled together, twitched. Lia laughed.
“That cop called you my boyfriend,” she said softly. “We just haven’t talked about it and—”
His chest rumbled with laughter, and he patted her arm. “I know we probably should talk about that, but can we talk about it after all this is over and we’re not in the middle of three death investigations?”
“Yeah,” she mumbled, and pulled away. “Of course.”
He squeezed her hands. “It’s just this is a lot and if someone is trying to kill me, then—”
“Lia!” Her mom broke away from where she was talking with the cops and James, and approached them.
Devon’s mom waylaid her with a hand on her arm, and Devon pulled away from Lia.
“You didn’t send any of those messages, did you?” he asked.
Lia shook her head. “Whoever was emailing you is probably the one who killed Cassidy.”
“It’s weird,” Devon said. “I was always next to Cass in lines. We used to play tic-tac-toe on the school assembly schedules.”
Cassidy Clarke and Devon Diaz—they were right next to each other alphabetically.
“Hello, Lia.” Dr. Diaz, Devon’s mom, walked over. “Thank you for not letting Devon fall off a flight of stairs.”
Devon had inherited her height and sharp features, but her brown skin was a shade darker and warmer and her black hair cut short in a perfect bob. It looked lovely against her red coat and white scarf.
Very aware of the damp hair stuck to her face and how her mascara must have run, Lia only nodded and said, “Of course.”
Such an offhanded comment, but it was the key to all of it. This was what Lia couldn’t think of when staring at the roster in her journal and erasing their scratched-out names. The deaths were in the order of the class list, just like her journal had been. Ascher, Barnard, Clarke, and Diaz.
“You were always next, Devon,” she said. “It’s your names.” She was going to say more, but her mom, expression tense, started walking toward them again. Devon let his mom lead him to her car, and Lia braced herself for her mom’s wrath. She stopped before Lia, taking her in.
“What happened now?” her mom asked. “You couldn’t wait until this had all blown over?”
As if Lia were the cause of the problems, no questions asked. She got no benefit of the doubt. She got dealt with.
“Devon might have died,” Lia said, “and you want that to blow over?”
“We told you to stay home. We told you to withdraw from the game,” she said. “This is serious, Lia. This is a police investigation. Children are dead, and you’re running around like nothing has changed.”
“It wasn’t part of the game!” Lia said, her shivering slurring her words. “I had to talk to him, and then someone attacked him.”
Her mom’s shoulders slumped. She reached out as if to hug Lia and instead rubbed her shoulder. “You are very lucky that Devon and Mr. Jackson both saw the person who did it when you chased them out.”
Mr. Jackson was worth five school security guards.
“They’ll try to kill Devon again,” Lia said. “Detective James gets that, right?”
“Lia.” Her mother sighed and unlocked the car. “There is a murderer on the loose. They’re not going to waste their time playing pranks on you.”
But they sure did waste a lot of time emailing Devon and pretending to be Lia.
When they got home, Lia’s mom had a metal lockbox on the kitchen counter. Inside was Lia’s phone, laptop, Switch, bike lock key, and house keys. Her mom shut and locked it all in the box in front of her.
“What are you doing?” Lia asked. “I need to talk to Devon.”
“You talked to Devon.” Her mom’s jaw tightened. “You snuck out of the house against our orders and the police, and you nearly got Devon killed. You’re done talking.”
“I saved him!” she protested.
“People are dead, Lia! You are not a hero. I’m tired of your obsession with Assassins. It’s done.” She grabbed Lia’s arm and yanked her down the hall. “Abby Ascher was murdered in this neighborhood. What were you thinking biking that far alone?”
Lia dug her heels into the carpet, dragging them to a stop right outside her door. “I know Abby’s dead. I know where she died. I know how she died. I know what she sounded like as she died and what she looked like after. I know how happy Ben was the night before he died, and I know how still he was the next day. My friends are dead. You can’t expect me to not do anything!”
Her mom paused in the bright light of the hallway, her hair stuck to her lips and mud trailing behind her shoes. “One thing, Lia. We have asked you to do one thing.”
“You never asked me to do anything,” whispered Lia. “The cops said don’t go anywhere, and they meant don’t leave town. And I haven’t.”
“You always pick apart things until you find what you think is a loophole,” her mom said, shaking her head. “You’re not as smart as you think you are. Sometimes you just have to do as asked.”
“I’ve always done what you’ve asked.” Lia yanked her arm away. “I gave up debate. I gave up piano. I gave up Latin for Spanish. I have done everything you asked and nothing I wanted. All those AP classes you made me take—I hate them. All those tutors and competitions? I did those because you asked.”
“That isn’t fair, Lia,” her mom said. “That was for you. For your own good.”
“No, I wasn’t good enough for you!” Lia shouted. “What I liked wasn’t good enough for you.”
Her mom was silent for a moment. “We’ll talk in the morning,” she said quietly. “They’re canceling school after Monday until this is dealt with. Monday, I will drop you off, and I will pick you up. You will stay at home. You will do the homework they give you. You can have your things back when you stop acting like a child.”
After her mom left, Lia tore through her old dresser picking through frayed cables and broken keyboards. “Aha!” She pulled out an old flip phone. The charger tumbled out with it. “Come on. Come on.”
The old phone powered on. Lia scrolled through the options, each screen taking an age to load. She had no cell service, but it would still connect to Wi-Fi. Lia typed in the password, messing up every other letter on the num
ber pad. The loading signal kept loading.
“Lights out!” her mom shouted through the door.
Lia turned off the light. The phone connected, and she crawled into bed with it in one hand and her Assassins journal in the other. It took another five minutes to get to a chat screen on the HTML free page no one used anymore. She sent a single message to the group chat they had made for their Assassins’ team. Ben’s icon stayed shadowed and silent, but she liked the idea that their words still reached some part of him.
What do they all have in common? Lia asked the chat.
It took three minutes to send.
Gem’s response was instant. YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU GOT INTERROGATED AS A SUSPECT AND THEN SNUCK OUT OF YOUR HOUSE FOR A DATE?
Lia winced.
It wasn’t a date, Devon said. Someone has been sending me emails from Lia’s account and pretending to be her
They even emailed the Council, Lia said. She tapped the keys and sank deeper beneath her blanket. The Council knew it wasn’t me, though. How?
Ellipses danced next to Devon’s name. Three dead students, all related to Lia, and a series of emails that make her sound like she’s becoming a bit too obsessed with the game. This is too much for it not to be related. In another town, maybe three students would die in one month, but this is Lincoln. We didn’t have that many students to begin with
Lia glanced out her bedroom window, never more aware that her one-story home was so vulnerable. Anyone could reach her window. But Detective James didn’t seem like he thought we were lying, right?
No. Especially since we have other witnesses
Let’s go over it then, Devon said, and Lia imagined him—glasses slipping down his nose, hair in disarray as he ran his hand through his hair. Tonight felt way too personal to be just about the game.
So, Lia said, why kill Abby Ascher, Ben Barnard, and Cassidy Clarke?
She underlined their names in her journal and skipped Eric Bins.
You said I was next, Devon typed slowly, each word showing up a few seconds after the other. So someone is killing people in alphabetical order with matching initials?
The Game Page 15
